Re: Capital: Misha/Damian
"Could be no one has change. Folks don't carry money. I learned that real quick. I reckon certain places they do, but most parts it's just plastic, and plastic won't do a thing for my buckle." Now, Misha, he knew real clear that Damian could just cut the damn belt. For all that he thought there was better things to Damian than the boy realized, he wasn't walking into this blind. Even before the situation with the assailants in the Manor, he'd understood that Damian could be plenty lethal. Could be Heaven said he should hold that 'gainst the other boy, but Misha didn't. Life, it wasn't black and white, and that was part of what Misha craved 'bout it. The messy, sticky, in-between parts, and Damian lived firmly in that crevice, least to Misha's thinking. Course, Misha's thinking wasn't a thing present, not when Damian talked back to him 'bout sucking him twice. "I know you're real quick at besting things, but I reckon I'll like making you not real able to focus on your lesson." Misha, he said that cheeky, like he knew real well he could back up his words with action.
And he enjoyed tripping Damian up unexpected real well. It was real short, that trip, but it was there, and Misha was near 'bout to tell him that his return question 'bout preferences, top or bottom, wasn't any answer. Course, Damian beat him to it, and Misha wasn't sure if he was expecting the answer he got. He'd thought 'bout it plenty, whether Damian would be inclined to bottom, and he hadn't come up with an answer any. Damian flushed more, and Misha chased the press of nose to hot cheek with a kiss there, real sweet and chaste, and his voice real near to Damian's ear. "I like both," he said as the other boy tutted. "In case you were curious any."
Brief as it was, with the cafe behind them and kissing coming quick on the heels of Misha's question, the boy still made note of that real timely no, all doused in finality like it was. But then kissing took precedent, and Misha had himself a real hard time pulling back, even for that curtsey. The boy, after all, was a natural performer, and this was his element plenty. If he'd had his fiddle strapped to his back, you could be sure he would've already been planning on what to play up at that little stool inside.
"I like making you curse," he said, like he'd just decided on it after a whole lot of pondering deeply, and impervious entirely to Damian's glare. In fact, there was a nice little quirk to the angel's lips, and you could feel the air 'round them cool pristine just for a second as Misha reached for his Grace to understand the words without asking for translation any. Damian pulled on his hand, and Misha tugged back and gave resistance. He was thin and waifish, was Misha, but that boy wasn't moving nowhere just yet. He tugged again, pulling Damian real close, and he just nosed sweet behind the other boy's ear, real quiet and intimate on that busy street, and then inches apart again. "You don't hate me even a smidge."